The View from Here
by LaPaige
Summary: You sit in silence, because what can someone say when you have no idea what life they lead? You’re not famous, not even in your tiny everyone-knows-everyone town. MitchieShane friendship.


**This was originally going to be much longer and have a very different ending. Turns out I liked this version better. I hope you're all well and enjoy this one-shot.**

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When you were five your class was asked to write down what they wanted to be when they grew up. The majority of boys put 'Superman' or 'My Daddy'. The girls wrote down 'Ballerina'. You wrote down 'Wendy', because even though it would be better to be Peter Pan, you were a girl and growing up might be useful someday.

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"Happy Birthday, sweetie."

Your mum hugs you close as she hands you a perfectly wrapped present (which your dad must have wrapped because your mum is terrible with wrapping paper and tape).

"Thanks mum," you say, kissing her on the cheek and carefully opening the present, making sure not to tear the paper. It's a new cell phone – one you've wanted for a few months because the one you have now is your dad's and it's about four years old. You smile and hug both your parents, thanking them over and over.

After a few more minutes of opening presents from distant family and some school friends, you set the cell phone aside and tell them that Sierra's asked you to go over and exchange presents (her birthday is two days after yours and it's tradition to swap gifts). They agree and tell you to have fun and, armed with your new cell phone, you walk outside.

You know that you didn't lie to your parents – Sierra _does _want to exchange birthday presents ... in an hour. You wanted to talk a walk first. It's something you've done since you were twelve - walked to the cliff edge and looked out at the view, savouring the moments where you're alone on your birthday. You're sixteen and everything is the same, and although you're a little disappointed you can't help but smile because, finally, you aren't a child anymore.

Time passes quickly on the cliff edge, and although it's cold – it's November – you don't mind the weather. You've accepted it in the five years you've been coming here. Only on your birthday, never any other date.

You close your eyes and ignore the footsteps behind you because this is your safe haven and nobody can know about it. Maybe if you ignore the stranger they'll go away, and leave you alone while you spend your final few minutes here.

They don't go. Instead, the sit beside you, but you stubbornly ignore them, not even tempted to check if you know them by glancing sideways.

Silence. At least the person can respect the quiet, you think to yourself. You spoke too soon.

"I'm Shane Gray."

You laugh out loud at how gullible this stranger (who is _not _one third of your second favourite boy band) thinks you are.

"Yeah, and I'm Taylor S-" You turn and the words freeze in your mouth because _oh my, _this really is Shane Gray.

He chuckles, obviously mistaking you for a star struck fan girl (which you _aren't_).

"I ... I'm Mitchie." You finally say, because he's staring and it's starting to unnerve you because it's like he's searching for something.

"Short for Michelle?" He questions, and you nod. Nobody's ever asked you that before, and with the exception of the new teachers before she corrects them ("It's Mitchie, not Michelle") and her mother when she's really, really angry, this is the first time anyone's called you by your real name as a pose to your nickname.

"I have a cousin called Michelle." He says as he shuffles a tiny bit closer to you. Maybe he thinks you won't notice.

"Why are you telling me this?" You ask before you can stop yourself, "I mean, not that I want to sound rude or anything..." You trail off, blushing.

"I don't know." He says, and for a brief moment you can tell he's being honest. He really doesn't know.

"I guess you can't really talk to many people," you say softly, avoiding his gaze and staring ahead.

"Yeah. Not many people just listen, you know?"

This is weird and ever so slightly awkward. He's a stranger in most ways, because the person you see on TV isn't the real Shane. And you mean when he's trying to be himself, not the characters he plays. Because nobody can be themselves when they're being followed by the media.

"It must be hard, being followed all the time," you whisper because if he doesn't want to answer he can pretend he didn't hear.

"It is. I'm still not used to it now."

You figure that this is a one off. You're probably never going to see him again, so it doesn't really matter what words you exchange. You're not going to tell anyone about this, even if they would believe you.

You sit in silence, because what can someone say when you have no idea what life they lead? You're not famous, not even in your tiny everyone-knows-everyone town. Instead you swing your legs a little, sharing the view with someone who, yesterday evening, you were watching on TV.

"Sometimes, when a show's over, I stand backstage and, for a few seconds, I imagine what it would be like to be a normal kid. Going to school, getting a job, that sort of thing. And, when I first started doing the whole music career thing, it was easy to imagine. Before my stardom I was exactly like that – I got to ninth grade before I had to be pulled out of school. Now, two years on, I can't remember how it was like. Not really, anyway. I miss that."

He's being honest. More honest than in any interview you've ever seen. And he's truly sad about being a superstar. He wants to be _normal. _Or at least, part of him does.

"I'm sure a lot of people would want to be you, Shane," you say softly.

"Does this make me selfish? A part of me would love to be normal again, but the other part of me loves this job. Screaming fans, sell out tours, meet and greets." He's smiling, but his eyes are dull.

"You're not the only one. I'm sure everyone famous wants normalcy sometimes."

"I guess." He replies, meeting your gaze. You stare for a second before turning away.

"I better go." You say this at the same time as him, and you find yourself smiling. He's smiling too as he stands up, offering a hand to you. You take it and let him help you up.

"It was nice to meet you," you tell him honestly. Because even though sometimes he seems like a jerk on TV, he's shown a softer side. One you didn't expect.

"You too, Michelle."

You find yourself liking the way he says your name.

"I'll see you around."

On TV, not in person. You mean this, and he knows it, but neither of you voice it.

You turn and start walking, still not quite believing this has happened.

"And Michelle?" You hear him say this and turn, curious. "Thanks for listening."

You nod.

"No problem."

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**I think this is the first time I've written in this style. I hope it wasn't _too _terrible. **

**P.S - If you have time please vote on the poll on my profile! It's about my new chapter fic! (:**


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